Seduction Discourse – Malefu Mahloane

They even had a shared Google drive account where they stored pictures of themselves together, but mostly her nudes since, unlike other girls her age, she could not show-off her beau on social media. It is not that she was a freak, it was natural promiscuity; something the gods made – a curse and a blessing. He muttered his ‘I love you’ several times after his withdrawal, folding his one leg and entangling her lower body with another. She had noticed how soft he became every time after the copulation. He’d lower himself from the pillows so that he could look up at her, sometimes placing his head on her cup 34 breast sized chest. It was pleasing to see him in this state of vulnerability, and not his usual strong black professor psyche. Power to the people! This is what had attracted her to him in the first place. He had skin the colour of hazelnuts, 5.8 feet tall with broad shoulders and a nicely lifted butt for a 52 year old. He was indeed all good things about a Congolese man. Teeth lined like corn on a stalk, corn-yellow too, but his beautiful smile dazzled beyond the yellow of his teeth.

Although he’d tell Dumi how much he loved her, she never said it back. Instead, she would smile at him and kiss his grey haired head. She knew it was not true, he loved how she made him feel, but not her. She knows the look of a lie, it is a look that she saw from her ex lovers which, has let her to guard against attachment. She learned to read a man like a book and knew better than to get hooked. “These men are crooks,” something she said to her mirror whenever she went out on one of her fake dates. She had not unlearned this belief, no matter how much the professor tried to caress her and forecast their future together, she had lost all understanding of what love entailed.

It all started at a conference where Dumi was to give a presentation for one of her courses. This was the first time she had been in such a space. A space filled with old intellects that couldn’t care less about their looks. She spotted the professor from the front corner of the auditorium where he was sitting with his peers, after over-hearing a group of ladies commenting on how arrogant he was with his international qualifications which he has been heard to say were his equipments to make Africa ‘better’. She was drawn to him at that very instant. This was not love at first sight. It was arousal. He had aroused in her a sense of intimidation and fear with his sharp gaze and straight posture. She was sure that he would be one of her big critics.

A woman with Dumi’s life experience knows that arrogant men seldom submit to even the most attractive of women. Her looks were not going to work on this one, she had to earn his respect with her intellect. It was this motivation that gave her courage to approach the professor at the tea table where she said, “It is a sham that there aren’t a lot of young people attending these things. It sort of makes you wonder about the future of academia in Africa.” The professor frowned and shrugged his shoulders, showing little interest. “Well, you’re young and you are here,” he said, locking eyes with her but still maintaining a straight face. “Yeah, and you are here too,” Dumi implied and walked away. As she turned away, the professor gave an asymmetrical smile and followed the young woman. “Well, so what do you say you and I keep in touch and see what work we could come up with to secure the future of academia in Africa?” the professor suggested and Dumi knew she had played to his ego. “Of course, I would love that. Take my email and write to me when you have time.” she said putting down her email in the text book he had in his arms. “This … this is a university text book! You cannot write in it with a pen.” he tried hard not to snap at her. “Then you can turn me in and make sure that I receive the punishment that I deserve for my carelessness,” she winked and walked away.

It was three weeks after the conference when the professor e-mailed Dumi, thanking her for her presentation and enquiring about her future academic interests. He wrote:

Dear Miss Do Me,

What a delightful presentation you gave! Bravo! Thank you for that, I needed that.

On the case of securing the future of Africa, have you thought about what you want to do next in academia? I offer supervision in the course of Gender and Sexuality in Africa. If you’re interested, please come over to my office and we can discuss the next step.

Kind Regards,

Prof. Lamal Mae| PhD England University| Post-Doc. Uni. Gauteng

“One of these things is unlike the others …” ~ Guess who?

Dumi was astonished to hear from the professor. After waiting for weeks without hearing from him, she was convinced he was a really proud man. For goodness sake, she was throwing herself at him. How could he let all of that go – an intelligent young woman with a dashing body? It did not transpire at all that, this was the same thinking that got the professor to write her; her dashing body that housed intellect. “Well, some intellect,” he said to a close friend of his. “These young women are curious so, they need to be satisfied. These are the 21st century matriarchs. Their authority lies in their sexuality. A really boisterous demeanour, how can I not take advantage of it? She renders me powerless,” he shrugged his shoulders.

Within two days after he had written to Dumi, the young woman showed up at his office at 19h00, at this time, the university was quiet with only the sounds of vehicles driving through the M1 bridge of Johannesburg coming through his window. She had on her red framed spectacles and tight black jeans with crop-top and elegant navy-blue suede stilettos. “You look like a slutty nerd, my dear. Come on in and make yourself comfortable.” The professor’s office had a smell of a potpourri; the books were neatly packed on the shelf according to themes. He had an excessively large Indian styled brass end accent desk with only a Mac-book, a pencil cup and the copy of the last work Chimamanda produced on it. As she was placing her handbag on the table and pulling out a notepad, preparing to sit down, Dumi asked, “So where do we start?” and with unexpected agility, the professor grabbed her figure and lifted her and laid her on the desk, lowered her jeans and took her from behind (her instructions) for a good 16.24 minutes. “Did you cum?” he said, trembling from delight. “You are a beautiful 23 year old woman,” he whispered, biting her ear. To Dumi, intercourse was just that, intercourse. She decided on this three years ago when a male friend of hers ravished her in the office of a pastor, his father. A trusted friend, who after that unforeseen incident told her that no man would ever love her if she were to ever say that she was raped, “So, how about we call this two friends having fun.” the pastors son had said.

Dumi came to accept that men are loose and she prepared herself emotionally for such men. “The trick is to never show emotion. There is nothing that tears a man apart more than knowing that he is not loved or needed.” The professor was no exception, no matter how much fun they had, despised their agreement that they were official partners, partially exclusive. The two continued their engagement for a while, and the professor would spend nights at Dumi’s digs were they would talk and debate over books until the debates reached a peak that could only be calmed by a physical war of passion. When things reached this point, Dumi would try hard to emasculate the professor, initiating every move and telling him not to stop until she said so. This was one argument that the professor could not win, and it did render him powerless. Age did not allow him the flexibility and stamina to take control in bed. This left him vulnerable in Dumis hands and he somehow started to think that this was love. That Dumi loved him because he knew that once a woman loves you, she will do anything she can to impress and keep you and it was only fair that he reciprocates by telling her that he loved her. This was how he intended to control her. She admitted to herself that she enjoyed the professor but she was careful not to fall for the man, even though sometimes she saw herself fantasising trips that they would take together and it was slowly becoming hard for her to imagine herself without him. When these romanticised thoughts visited her, she reminded herself that, “These men are crooks.” and listed out all the reasons why she did not need the man or need to belief that he loved her. The reasons were that he is married, he is married and he is married. It would be naive of her to belief that a man who fell for her seduction while in a matrimonial bidding would love her when he was failing to love a woman who had committed her life to him. “Lying about love, this is patriarchy today. A lot of women stay in emotionally abusive, negligent relationships where they are not allowed to challenge the opinion of men who claim to love them.” Dumi thought to herself now that she was alone and the professor had had to rush home to his wife. She then switched off the lights and reached for her bedside drawer and pulled out her dildo.


Photo: Hazel Fasaha Tobo


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